


The Modern Vampire's Guide to Romance

by itsalwayssunnyintaubate



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Crush, Crushes, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Seduction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2019-10-04 17:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17308634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwayssunnyintaubate/pseuds/itsalwayssunnyintaubate
Summary: In which Charlotte Ashbury decides to edit a magazine article in order to help hopelessly single Dr. Jonathan Reid find love in his cursed existence. Elisabeth Ashbury is more amused than worried and definitely on board with that. Yeah, lets find Jonathan a... person. Very gender-neutral.Well, Geoffrey McCullum has no idea what fate has in store for him.(this will be updated very slowly, but it will be completed. eventually)





	1. #1 CARRY THEIR STUFF

One can get used to the strangest things, Jonathan thinks as he makes his way towards the Ashbury residence for his habitual soirée with his beloved friend and her daughter. When he was running like crazy around London trying to fight the flu epidemic, he could never imagine it would come a time where he would be able to enjoy this type of normalcy.

“I made you something, Dr. Reid,” Charlotte Ashbury says as soon as Jonathan enters her mother’s atelier. She is perched on top of a stepladder, a magazine in one hand and a glass of cognac in the other. She comes down to greet him before handing him the magazine. Jonathan reads the headline on the open page aloud:

“The modern gentleman’s guide to romance?”

“No! The modern _vampire’s_ guide to romance!” Jonathan looks at the page again and only then sees the fine lines crossing several words, others scribbled in small letters on top of them. “I edited it!”

“Oh, I see…” Jonathan mutters, trying and failing not to sound too condescending. Charlotte is tipsy, to say the least, but looks so proud of herself. Elisabeth, in turn, seems amused by her daughters behaviour. Jonathan nods at her in lieu of a more formal greeting and she goes back to working on her canvas.

“I even made it gender neutral for you,” Charlotte points out.

Jonathan raises an eyebrow.

“For _me_?”

“Yes, as I wasn’t sure of your _preferences_.” On her lips, the word preferences gains way too many consonants, but Jonathan is still stuck at the gender neutral thing. “Mum wasn’t either.”

“But why?” He insists. Elisabeth sighs, puts her brushes aside and joins the conversation, helpfully saying:

“Don’t get her going, Jonathan, dearest.”

“We were talking, you see… Just before you got here. About how you are...” Charlotte struggles with her words as she climbs back onto the stepladder, drink wobbling in her hand but not spilling. She sits. “ _Handsome_ , I guess, for an old man…”

“Old?” Jonathan manages, voice a little higher than he intended.

“Don’t even…” Elisabeth sighs, raising a hand in warning, dried spots of painting stuck to her fingers.

“But you’re handsome! Kind of…” Charlotte continues, taking a small sip of her glass. “And yet you’re just as single as the rest of us and I think you need _help_.”

The ‘rest of us’ she refers to is Elisabeth and herself. Jonathan purses his lips and rolls the up in his hands. He already regrets having come.

“As far as those magazines go, this is not the worst advice, you know?” Charlotte assures him. “It actually seems to consider a relationship something you have to work on, not just something you achieve and then forget about… take a look inside. It has a nice conclusion…”

Jonathan opens the magazine one more time and begins to read. The article brings eleven tips to gain the interest of a hypothetic female. Actually, after Charlotte’s little editions, it is about attracting a hypothetic _person_ , not specifically a woman.

Eleven tips.

From giving flowers to decorating the bedroom for a night of love-making, the text brings generic and superficial advice that sounds almost like a conquest plan.

“You’re still not over him, are you?” Elisabeth asks her daughter and Charlotte deflates. Her messy love life is always a difficult topic and one Jonathan is never anxious to discuss. He is, after all, very tired from an entire day at Pembroke Hospital and really wants to get to bed before the sun rises in a few hours, which will not happen if they start talking about Charlotte’s broken heart.

“No, but I’m getting there,” Charlotte says as Jonathan scans the first item on the list. Something about carrying the belongings of the woman one is interested in to show her how strong and manly they are. Show them, actually. Not _her_. Gender neutral. “In the meantime, I can help my friends… Jeremy has a new boyfriend thanks to me, did I tell you?”

“Yes, a few times, already,” Elisabeth tiredly says, sitting down on an armchair and gesturing broadly for Jonathan to occupy the other one. “As you can see, Jonathan, Charlotte has decided to play cupid these days.”

Jonathan sits down, but says nothing. His eyes are still glued to the magazine page.

 

_The Modern ~~gentleman’s~~ **Vampire’s** Guide To Romance (In Eleven Easy Steps)_

_#1 Carry ~~her~~ **their** things for ~~her~~ **them**_

_There’s only so much you can expect a ~~lady~~ **person** to carry, right? As you spot ~~her~~ **them** struggling to carry ~~her~~ **their** ~~groceries~~ **stuff** , it’s a perfect time to sweep in and relieve ~~her~~ **them** of ~~her~~ **their** burden, being a good ~~guy~~ **PERSON** with a bonus of showing evidence of how strong you are as you easily carry what ~~she~~ **THEY** struggled to. This? Is not heavy at all! For critical effect, chitchat to show how you don’t even lose your breath and you’ll have ~~her~~ **them** sighing in seconds!_

 

“All right then, Dr. Reid. Tell us your type. What do you look for in a _lover_?”

Jonathan almost chokes when he hears the word lover. It sounds so _dirty_ coming from Charlotte. His reaction does not stop her, though.

“Sense of humour? Muscles? A nice voice?” She insists. “Do you like them tall? Short?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jonathan replies, feeling intimidated. He never thought of himself as a person who has a _type_. It has been so long since he’s been on a date, really, that he can barely remember the type of person he used to go for. He casts Elisabeth a desperate look and mouths, “Help me here…”

Elisabeth shrugs and picks up a book from the nearby table, ignoring him.

“Light or dark hair?” Charlotte pushes him. “Female or male?”

“I don’t know, okay?” He snaps. And, okay, at least the last question he should have been able to answer and, in a different time, he would have been. Lately, however… he has been questioning so much about himself. “Can we please change the subject?”

Elisabeth looks at him with such pity he feels his face become warmer and that is something he wishes had died with his humanity, but, no, let’s be a blushing vampire because why not?

Fuck his life. Or whatever this is.

“It’s easy, Dr. Reid…” Charlotte begins, gathering impulse. Jonathan braces himself as she says, “You just have to think about the type of person you imagine when you masturbate.”

Dark blue eyes flash across Jonathan’s mind for a second followed by a voice deep and hoarse, sandpaper rough with a gruff Irish accent. Jonathan scowls. Even Elisabeth, shocked, takes a second too long to scold her daughter, “Charlotte!” Charlotte immediately sits up straighter, eyes wide. “You’re overstepping…”

The girl seems a hundred percent more sober as she mumbles, without looking at Jonathan, “Sorry.”

“I’m afraid I am not looking for romance at the moment, Charlotte, but I appreciate your efforts…” He reassures the girl with a tight smile that does not reach his eyes. “At this point, I’m just happy to have people in my life I don’t have to hide from.”

And there it is, the pity back on Elisabeth’s eyes. She opens her mouth to say something, but Charlotte interrupts her:

“Alright, so it has to be a vampire or someone who is okay with the existence of vampires…”

“It doesn’t have to be anyone,” Jonathan insists, a little more forcibly than intended, and stands up. “I’m good, Charlotte. Seriously.”

Elisabeth sets her book back down and stands up as well, moving back to her painting. She beckons Jonathan with one hands and says, “Jon, come here and let me know what you think.”

Jonathan goes, happy to focus on something else. Every week, when Jonathan comes to the Ashbury Residence, he finds Elisabeth working on a new panting. Landscapes, this time, since she says she is so terribly bored of portraits. Jonathan never recognises the places she paints, so there’s always a story there somewhere. Elisabeth says it’s easier to talk about places than about people.

What Jonathan likes the most, though, is not even the painting itself, but the smell of paint around him. Linseed stand oil. Turpentine. That and having the Ashbury women nearby, their presences a comforting halo around his darker nature.

As the night progresses, Charlotte falls asleep on an armchair and Jonathan ends up having to carry her to her bedroom. When he shuts Charlotte’s bedroom door, Elisabeth is waiting for him.

“Are you all right, Jonathan?” she asks, eyebrows drawn in worry. Jonathan nods and says, hurried:

“Yes. Of course. Just a little tired.”

Elisabeth does not seem satisfied. With a sigh, she pushes, “Are you lonely, my dear?”

Jonathan partially loses his polite demeanour in order to groan in frustration, “You too?”

“I have a keen eye. And I know you,” Elisabeth says, walking back to her atelier and leaving Jonathan little choice but to follow her. “Charlotte might have been too blunt about it, but her heart is in the right place.”

“I know.”

“And she is not wrong.”

Jonathan does not reply this time. They do not enter the atelier again and he takes the opportunity to gather his coat from the rack on the hallway, but hesitates before putting it on, words caught inside his throat, incapable of finding a way out.

“Would you like to stay the night, dear? I can set up the guest bedroom for you,” Elisabeth offers.

“No, I’d better go home,” Jonathan replies. “My mum.”

“Of course,” Elisabeth says. The last thing she wants is for the woman to get the wrong idea. “Send her my best regards.”

Jonathan makes a face. His mother is not Elisabeth’s biggest fan, as it turns out. Elisabeth shrugs. It doesn’t hurt to try.

“Don’t forget your magazine,” she reminds him. Jonathan, too tired to argue, takes the damned magazine with him.

As he leaves, Elisabeth cracks a window open to watch him. It’s late enough that the only people on the street are either bad company or the Guard of Priwen, which, she supposes, is not very good company either. She thinks about warning Jonathan of the one guard coming down the street towards him, but it’s just one guard and his hands are busy with a big box he’s carrying.

That one guard, however, is one Jonathan recognises. He stops walking immediately and stares at Geoffrey McCullum.

“I’ll be damned…” he whispers to himself.

Indifferent to Jonathan’s presence, Geoffrey McCullum stops to set the box he is carrying on top a garbage can. He stretches his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension in his muscles, and sighs.

It is a testimony to how mindlessly attracted to him Jonathan is that the Ekon is able to find the man breath-taking even though he is obviously worn out after a night of hard work patrolling the streets. He looks better than he did during the epidemic, though.

Healthier, Jonathan thinks.

Maybe now he has the time to really eat and sleep and Jonathan is walking towards him before he can think twice, following the trail of sweat and gunpowder on his scent. Absentmindedly, Jonathan wonders what his skin tastes like. What it would feel like under his tongue. A second later, though, he feels like a complete creep and wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

The last time he and Geoffrey talked was at the cemetery, many moons ago. Geoffrey actually opened up to him then, vulnerable and devoid of all his prior aggression, and now Jonathan aches for him in a way he did not know he could.

Geoffrey tries to pick the box up again and almost loses balance. It’s a good thing Jonathan is already halfway there.

“Let me help you with that,” Jonathan says, easily taking the box from the hunter’s grasp.

“Reid?” Geoffrey exclaims, so shocked he doesn’t even fight to take the box back. He looks around them at the empty street as if looking for the place Jonathan had been hiding from him. Jonathan really expected him to have better awareness of his surroundings, what with him being a hunter. “What are you doing here?”

“I was visiting a friend,” Jonathan explains, grunting under the weight of the box. “What are you carrying, a dead body?”

“What? No,” Geoffrey replies. “My men are running out of bullets.”

“Well, not anymore,” Jonathan replies.

“Funny,” Geoffrey bites back, but he has a small smile on his lips. Geoffrey moves as if trying to take the box back, but it’s half-hearted. Jonathan takes a step towards the street, balancing the weight in his arms, and asks:

“Where are you taking these?”

“The headquarters.”

Near the docks, then. Unless they changed it, which Jonathan seriously doubts.

“Lead the way,” he courteously says. Geoffrey frowns, but starts walking deciding that, hell, if Jonathan Emmet Reid wants to carry a heavy box, why would he deny him the pleasure?

That is, except for the fact that the dear doctor is a blood-sucking creature made of darkness and hunger.

Sliding her window closed, Elisabeth smiles to herself.


	2. #2 PRESENT THEM WITH FLOWERS

> “Such a thoughtful ~~gentleman~~ **person**!” ~~She~~ They will think as you hand ~~her~~ **them** a nice and bright bouquet of flowers. There is no more certain way to make your affections clear ~~without relinquishing your position of power~~ **EWWWW**! If ~~she is~~ **they are** receptive, then it is a romantic gesture. If ~~she isn’t~~ **they aren’t** , they’re just flowers! You give ~~your mother~~ **EVERYONE** flowers **because secretly you’re a flower**! It’s no big deal!

-x-

Jonathan does not come across Geoffrey McCullum even once in the week that follows. Not that he was expecting to, but he couldn’t help but hope to see him in the same helpless way one hopes to win the lottery. As he makes his way to the Ashbury residence on Saturday evening that follows his perfectly normal, McCullum-free week, he tells himself he is looking all around himself just to make sure he isn’t taken off-guard by any unpleasant surprises, but deep down he knows. He’s looking for the hunter as he has for the entire week.

When he arrives at Elisabeth’s doorstep, the first thing he notices is the silence. A dead giveaway of Charlotte’s absence. He enters.

“She is on a date,” Elisabeth explains a while later when Jonathan inquires about her daughter’s whereabouts. They’re sitting side by side, steaming teacups that they can’t taste in their hands.

Elisabeth doesn’t have to say it. It is clear that she does not think _that_ is a good idea. The date.

“So soon?” Jonathan echoes what Elisabeth is obviously thinking. She sets her teacup down.

“Yes. I know. I can’t really stop her, though, can I? Believe me, I’ve tried. She’s…” She rolls her eyes. “She’s a force of nature, that one. But she’ll be here next week.”

Jonathan nods. He thinks about letting his tongue graze the surface of the tea, but it’s still too hot, he knows, and a burnt tongue hurts just as much as a vampire as it did back when he was human. He sets down his cup too and, unhappily, says, “I won’t be here, though. I’m sorry.” Elisabeth raises an eyebrow in confusion. “it’s Mary’s…”

“Mary’s birthday. Right,” she interrupts him. He knows she means well, not wanting him to dwell on such a painful topic, but he finds himself wanting to talk. To share. It’s been a bit over a year since Mary died, a bit less since everything went down with the Morrigan and the epidemic. Almost six months since Elisabeth decided to come back to London. But Jonathan’s wounds still sting as if fresh. Elisabeth goes on, “It’s fine, Jon. Let me know if you need anything, yeah? You know you don’t have to be alone.”

Jonathan grits his teeth.

“I know.”

Being alone is not the problem, though. The problem is the loneliness eating at his insides even when he’s got company. Even when he is drowning in patients, surrounded by friends and family.

“But it’s a good thing that Charlotte is not here today, you know,” Elisabeth begins, dragging the younger Ekon back to the real world.

Jonathan recomposes himself and politely asks, “And why is that?”

Elisabeth’s hands reach for her teacup with a fluid movement, the perfect image of dignity. She says, “I wanted to apologise to you. On her behalf.” She blows softly, thoughtlessly, across the warm surface of her tea. “About last week. She was completely out of line.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Jonathan responds, struggling to be the articulate doctor he normally is. “I mean, she _was_. Out of line, that is. But she wasn’t _wrong_. And you weren’t either. I am… lonely. It gets lonely… sometimes.”

“That’s the one thing that never really changes.” Elisabeth is not looking at him when she replies.

Jonathan opens his mouth, thinks about saying something else. Changing the subject. Anything to cover the pregnant silence between them.

In the end, he says nothing.

The magazine Charlotte edited for him is still on his desk, back at his family’s house. After he had a chance to carefully read it, he came to appreciate Charlotte’s efforts and especially the fact that she seemed to get angrier the further down the article she got, her editions becoming snarkier by the line.

Thinking of the magazine inevitably brings his thoughts back to the leader of the Priwen Guard — as it has the whole week. Geoffrey didn’t seem the least put off by Jonathan’s presence or assistance the week before, but, as they came closer to the docks, he took the box from Jonathan with a quiet, ‘I’ve got it’ and a smile entirely too soft for so late at night.

Jonathan tried to offer to carry the box the rest of the way, but Geoffrey couldn’t have him find out the headquarters’ location, now, could he? Jonathan could simply follow him, the Ekon replied. Geoffrey smirked. “I’ll wait till morning comes so you can’t follow me. Go on, now,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

And he _did_ wait. Only when Jonathan was too far away to be able to track him is that he went on his way.

Jonathan is so distracted by his memories he ends up sipping on his too hot tea, effectively erasing his small smile with a burnt tongue. Beside him, Elisabeth raises an eyebrow.

The pain doesn’t stop Jonathan from wondering, absentmindedly, when he will meet the hunter again.

-x-

After all he’s been through, Jonathan expected that going to the cemetery was going to be easier at this point, but it’s not. The smell alone is enough to make him a bit queasy, but it’s where Mary is. It’s the only place he can be with her, now.

He considered coming with his mother earlier. With Avery. Finding his sister’s friends, sharing stories, splitting the burden.

In the end, he came alone.

The ground he walks on is wet and heavy clouds pass overhead, but it’s not raining. The universe seems to have at least taken this pity on him as he sits on the balustrade and clutches the flowers he brought between shaky fingers. Lilies.

Mary used to love lilies.

His eyes were already damp by the time he crossed the cemetery gates, so his tears quickly turn into pained sobs as he sits alone and misses his dead sister.

Mary used to be so close to him. Even during the war. She wrote to him all the time, sharing her secrets and teasing Jonathan’s out of him. The coldness inside his chest comes from the fact that he knows he can never go back. Mary will never be there again and he can never undo what happened.

If his mother knew, she would never look him in the eye again.

The flowers fall from between his fingers as he hides his face on his hands. Eyes burning, chest aching, for a long moment he doesn’t even notice he is no longer alone.

A few feet away, Geoffrey McCullum freezes as soon as he lays eyes on Jonathan. He thinks about just turning around and walking away, but then the Ekon sees him.

Jonathan dries his tears with an awkward movement, but he can’t seem to be able to stop them now. He feels embarrassed, but, more than anything, he feels broken.

Geoffrey takes a step closer, but doesn’t try to touch him. His voice is quiet when is asks, “What are you doing here?”

Jonathan lets out a bitter laugh and has to bite back a sarcastic answer. What he says is, “I come here sometimes.”

Vague, but Geoffrey knows thing about him. “Your sister?” he asks.

Jonathan sniffs. He wants to look away but can’t help but track Geoffrey’s movements as he kneels to retrieve the flowers from the ground.

“Today is her birthday,” Jonathan says. Geoffrey is staring at the flowers, not at him, and for a second Jonathan allows himself to be thankful for the hunter being there, for whatever reason. The world feels a bit less dark when he’s not staring at it alone.

“Lilies,” Geoffrey says.

It’s not a question, but Jonathan replies as if it were, “They were her favourites.”

“My mother’s too,” Geoffrey replies with a confused frown. He hands the flowers back to Jonathan. “Their smell… it reminds me of her.”

Jonathan is still shaking when he takes the flowers back. He hopes Geoffrey doesn’t see it, but knows it’s probably too late. Geoffrey shifts around uncomfortably for a second before coming to sit beside Jonathan on the balustrade.

Jonathan remembers the story the hunter told him so many months ago, what happened to his family. “Where was she buried?” the Ekon asks and wants to kick himself the second the words leave his mouth. As far as small talk is concerned, this is not one of his proudest moments.

Geoffrey just shrugs. “She wasn’t.”

They don’t talk, after that. They don’t touch. They barely look at each other. But when Jonathan takes a half-closed lily from the bouquet and hands it to Geoffrey before leaving the rest of it on top of Mary’s tombstone the hunter immediately smells the flower. He looks so thankful Jonathan’s heart breaks a tad more.

Mary hadn’t been properly buried either, that first time. At least he made sure to get it done right. At least he had the chance to.

Jonathan came alone, but he doesn’t leave alone. Even though he and Geoffrey part ways shortly after they cross the cemetery gates, Jonathan knows there’s at least one other out there who knows his pain. Someone whose heart also aches at the scent of lilies, but who holds onto the flower like a lifeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW  
> I'm the WORST  
> look at all that angst  
> I swear to Satan the next chapter will be cute as fuck goddamnit  
> also, this story is coming along very slowly, so bear with me and sorry it took me so long to update, but I'm writing so many other things I might be going a little crazy (and you guys have deus ex to blame for it and also the big bangs and reverse bangs and kinkbingo - all of which I signed up for so, yeah, blame me lol)
> 
> also, have I told you guys I'm on tumblr? Come chat (or leave me prompts)!  
> itsalwayssunnyintaubate.tumblr.com
> 
> and one more thing: if you find something any typos or mistakes on my text, tell me and I'll be forever thankful!


	3. WRAP THEM UP IN YOUR COAT

#3 Wrap them up in your coat!

A cold night is a perfect opportunity to let ~~her~~ **them** feel warm and protected as you offer ~~her~~ **them** your coat to keep ~~her~~ **them** from the wind and rough weather! In ~~her~~ **their** eyes you will be an ~~exemplary~~ ~~gentleman~~ **DECENT** **PERSON** while surrounding them with your scent. ( **EW CREEPY WHY DON’T YOU PEE ON THEM ALREADY)**

-x-

When Geoffrey leaves the Priwen headquarters on a Friday night with a dozen of his men at his back, he’s so worried about what they have to do that he barely notices the weather, this freezing, horrible thing slapping him in the face.

That’s his first mistake.

The guards track the Vulkod that’s been wreaking havoc around town down to the East Docks and by the time they take the son of a bitch down, they’re all panting and sweaty and injured in varying degrees of gravity. Geoffrey sends the less seriously hurt men carrying the other ones back to the headquarters and stays behind to deal with the owner of the shed their prey had been occupying. That’s his second mistake.

It’s how it always goes, but it’s never easy, this part. Explaining that they’re not the police, you see. They’re very sorry about the damages, but they’re not paying for it. staying behind, however, gives him enough time to get cold all over again as he tries not to lecture the property owner that he should be happy the creature is dead and everyone is alive to tell the tale.

By the time all is settled, Geoffrey’s already shivering and the thin layer of snow that’s settling outside feels like a personal attack. Should have worn his warmer coat, he thinks, far too late. Still, he decides to try and make his way back.

He’s already halfway to the headquarters, wondering just how sick he will be when his body catches up to his nightly adventures, when he runs into the one person who would be able to promptly answer that question.

Jonathan Reid.

Geoffrey’s too busy shivering to even feel embarrassed about the shape he’s in. Crap, he can barely feel his fingers anymore. Jonathan takes one look at his pale lips and trembling shoulders and shrugs his coat off.

“What on Earth happened to you, hunter?” he asks, throwing the coat over Geoffrey’s shoulders. The fact that the hunger barely fights him is a testimonial to how cold he’s feeling.

“Rough day at the office,” Geoffrey jokes. He tries to push Jonathan’s hands off of him with a soft, “Keep your coat, Reid.”

Jonathan, however, is having none of it. “I don’t mind the cold, McCullum, but you? That’s a pneumonia in the makings,” he says. “Put the coat on properly, come on.”

Geoffrey hesitates, but he knows Jonathan’s right. And the last thing the Priwen needs right now is him getting sick. As he shoves his arms into the coat sleeves, Geoffrey can’t help but think that Jonathan looks rather nice without his coat on. Slimmer, less bulky, and Geoffrey’s exhausted mind wonders what it would feel like to hold him. If he would feel warm or soft or human in his arms.

As Geoffrey tries to cut that line of thought, Jonathan starts to rub Geoffrey’s arms vigorously up and down, which is… effective, yes, to get the blood flowing, but also strangely intimate.

“Why are you out at this hour?” Geoffrey asks.

“What other hour would I be out?” Jonathan replies with a small shrug. “I just finished my rounds through the district. I was on my way home.”

With a firm hand, the doctor guides a distracted Geoffrey into step with him.

“Where are we going?” Geoffrey asks. Maybe he’s lost more blood than he thought during the fight. He feels quite dizzy.

Jonathan’s unhelpful answer is, “Somewhere warmer.”

And Geoffrey shouldn’t go. Shouldn’t follow him. The man with his hand on his elbow is an Ekon. A predator.

He doesn’t feel threatening in the slightest, though, and Geoffrey’s instincts are usually accurate.

Jonathan’s idea of somewhere warmer is, as it turns out, the Turquoise Turtle, which isn’t exactly warmer, per se, but at least it’s far from the wind and snow. And they do sell things that are efficient in warming a person up.

That’s how Geoffrey very soon finds himself propped up against the empty bar counter as Jonathan presses a glass of whiskey to his lips. And Geoffrey would argue that Jonathan doesn’t need to go as far as _feeding_ him the drink, but Geoffrey’s hands are shaking so much he doubts he’d be able to hold the glass up himself.

When Jonathan’s satisfied with how much Geoffrey drank from the glass, the Ekon states, “You’re bleeding,” as if he’s just noticed it.

Jonathan sets the half-empty whiskey glass on the counter and sweeps a cold thumb across Geoffrey’s cheek. It comes away stained red. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Vulkod,” Geoffrey says very simply. His insides already feel warmer with the alcohol, but his teeth are still chattering. He doesn’t want to, but he explains, “We took it out. The guards and I. My face took most of the damage.”

Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Let _me_ be the judge of that,” he replies, a dark kind of humour colouring his voice. He proceeds to give Geoffrey a more thorough examination right there in the middle of the bar. First, Jonathan holds Geoffrey’s face in his cold hands, sharp eyes scanning his wounds. He moves a raised finger in front of Geoffrey’s face and then prods at Geoffrey’s ribs and chest until he’s satisfied. Nothing broken, thankfully, but he’s tender enough it doesn’t feel good.

With all the touching and Jonathan so close to him, Geoffrey doesn’t need the Ekon’s encouragement to finish the drink. It’s disconcerting to have such a dangerous man looking at him so genuinely worried.

“How are you feeling?” Jonathan’s asks in a low voice. In the cold and empty bar, it sounds so loud. Jonathan looks as though he expects Geoffrey to pass out anytime, so Geoffrey offers him a tight smile.

“I can feel my fingers again. Thanks for the coat.”

As Geoffrey begins to take said coat off, Jonathan stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Keep it for tonight,” Jonathan says. “You can return it later. I’ll be fine.”

Geffrey still hesitates, but can’t argue with the tone Jonathan uses.

“I’ll bring it by tomorrow,” Geoffrey promises.

Jonathan doesn’t argue, lips twisting into a soft and tired smile. It should look terrible, that smile, sharp teeth and pale lips. Such a terrible creature. But, for reasons Geoffrey doesn’t want to linger on, it makes his heart flutter anxiously.

Noticing Geoffrey’s finally stopped shivering, Jonathan steps away. “You know where I live,” he says, nodding his goodbye to the hunter who has been effectively stunned into silence.

It shouldn’t feel hard to walk away from Geoffrey, but it somehow does.

As Jonathan makes his way home through the mostly empty London streets, he wonders if Charlotte would approve of his actions tonight. If she would consider it a step in the right direction, a progress of sorts. He certainly feels miles away from any sort of progress, as it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haven't been writing a lot lately, sorry for the SLOOOW updates life's crazy and now I'm trying to get my driver's license (at 28. better late than never right?)  
> hope this chapter isn't horribly butchered  
> lemme know how you feel, yea?  
> have an amazing july <3


	4. #4 SERENADE THEM

#4 SERENADE!

If the shortest way to a ~~man’s~~ **ANYONE’S** heart is through ~~his~~ **THEIR** stomach, the same can be said about ~~women’s~~ **ANYONE’S** heart’s and music. **BECAUSE MUSIC IS WONDERFUL WHO EVEN WRITES THESE THINGS UGH**

-x-

Coming across Jonathan Reid in the middle of the night and having the doctor loan Geoffrey his coat and, well, take _care_ of him had been _confusing_ , to say the least.

Geoffrey is still confused when he wakes up the following morning, throat a bit sore and a running a mild fever. And confused he stays throughout the entire day until he decides to, confused as he is, go to Jonathan’s house and return the doctor’s coat anyway.

It’s not like he’s going to make sense of the Ekon anytime soon, either way.

Reid himself opens the front door when Geoffrey arrives. He looks mildly surprised at Geoffrey’s presence, but politely shakes the hunter’s hand and steps aside to let Geoffrey in. He’s dressed like he’s about to go out himself and Geoffrey wants to say, _hey, I didn’t mean to bother you_ , but then a female voice pointedly asks, “Who is it, Johnny?”

Geoffrey has a moment to ask himself who the fuck _Johnny_ is before the Ekon replies, “It’s a friend of mine, mother.”

Looking towards the voice, Geoffrey sees an elderly lady dressed in dark clothes. Before she sees the hunter, she asks, “That red-haired lady?” But then their eyes meet and she pauses for a second before stage-whispering somewhere behind her, “Avery, dear, set another plate, will you?”

Jonathan seems to be about to say something, but Geoffrey cuts him off with a curt, “Your coat.”

In Geoffrey’s outstretched hands lies the coat from the previous night, folded to the best of the hunter’s abilities. It takes Jonathan a second, but he manages to take it before things get any more awkward. “Thank you. Will you come with me, please?” he softly asks.

Geoffrey’s heard all sorts of things about Reid’s kind and their powers. Most of it is bullshit, but for a second he wonders if all that talk about mind control has any truth to it because he feels weirdly compelled to follow the Ekon’s gentle request.

As soon as they enter the dining room, an older gentleman takes Geoffrey’s coat for him and all Geoffrey can think is, yeah, of course they have a fucking _butler_.

“This is Avery. Avery, this is Geoffrey McCullum,” Jonathan quickly introduces them.

Avery nods. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise,” Geoffrey replies, looking around the dining room uncomfortably.

“And this is my mother, Emelyne Reid,” Jonathan rushes to say. Geoffrey’s eyes meet Emelyne’s and he thinks, _well, that’s Jonathan Reid’s mother, all right_. It’s a bit eerie, really.

Geoffrey does greet her, that much he knows, but if anyone asks him what the hell he said to the woman, he won’t be able to tell. Somehow he gets roped into sitting down and having dinner because, according to Emelyne, her son barely eats anything with his crazy work hours and that red-haired friend of his, who Geoffrey is pretty sure is Lady Elisabeth Ashbury, is even worse. Plain rude, the two of them, Emelyne says.

“I should really be going,” Geoffrey tries to say even as Avery is filling his plate with meat and roasted potatoes. When did he sit down? Oh, he hates these social situations. Never knows what to say, how to act. Had they been fighting, it would be easier. Geoffrey would know exactly what to do.

But then Jonathan offers a soft, “Stay,” warm like an offer, sad like he’s pleading, and Geoffrey allows himself to relax bit by bit into the pleasantries the four of them trade during the meal, Avery offering more food, Emelyne asking innocuous questions and Jonathan humming in agreement from time to time. Even though he doesn’t allowed Avery to put anything on the plate in front of him, Jonathan sits comfortably beside Geoffrey through the entire meal. The food is as delicious as it smells and Geoffrey makes sure to offer his compliments. He’s not a _complete_ barbarian. Still, the entire experience is so completely surreal to him he actually considers if he is in fact under some kind of spell for a moment or two.

“Will you have a nightcap with us?” Emelyne offers when Avery begins to take their plates away. “Jonathan will play something for us, won’t you, Jonathan?”

“Of course, mother,” Jonathan acquiesces, a smile of nothing but love on the pained set of his eyebrows. He’s not particularly happy at being put under the spotlight like this, but he can’t really deny his mother after the year they’ve had.

And that’s the story of how Geoffrey ends up on a Saturday night sipping orange liqueur with Emelyne Reid while Jonathan sits at the piano on the far end of the room and plays them a ballad about chasing rainbows in his deep, smooth voice. The alcohol is sweet and warm in Geoffrey’s throat, deliciously fragrant, and he can’t help but sigh in pleasure, eyes glued to Jonathan’s back. He wonders if the Ekon can feel the weight of his gaze.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Emelyne sighs, eyes soft as she watches her son play on. “He really is something, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Geoffrey replies before he can think better of it. The whole night has put him in a strange headspace, that’s the explanation he’s going with, the reason why he’s tingling pleasantly all over, heart at once tight and light inside his chest. At his words, there’s a barely noticeable stutter in the song and Geoffrey knows he’s been heard.

Jonathan was never supposed to hear it. The warmth in his voice, clear as day.

The song ends and another begins. Geoffrey can’t really follow what Jonathan is singing about or what Emelyne is saying, but soon their glasses are empty and the elderly woman bids everyone goodnight and whispers a soft, _No, don’t get up. Finish your song, Johnny, Avery will see me upstairs_.

After she goes, Geoffrey feels strange sitting all alone across the room from Jonathan, so he stands up and approaches the piano. The hunter tries to think of something appropriate to say when ‘I have no idea what to do with myself right now’ doesn’t sound quite right.

“I didn’t know you played,” is what comes out. Jonathan finishes the song with a sad chord, so soft it’s barely there, but his fingers still trace the black and white of the keys long after it stops resonating.

“There is a lot you still don’t know about me,” Jonathan replies, slow and deliberately.

 _Still_ , he says. Something inside Geoffrey unlocks and the hunter sighs, leaning against the piano. His body feels heavy, his skin too tight against his flesh.

Jonathan goes on, “I used to play a lot better. Then I stopped. This was gathering dust.” He gestures at the piano. “We just recently had it tuned, in fact. And I hadn’t played in a long time.”

“Seriously?” Geoffrey sounds impressed. “Didn’t sound like it.”

Jonathan would have blushed if he could spare the blood. Repressing a pleased smile, he offers, “Would you like to hear more?”

Jonathan is looking at Geoffrey expectantly, blue eyes soft but still piercing in their sincerity. Geoffrey heart stutters.

“Sure,” Geoffrey replies, crossing his arms and getting more comfortable. He should go back to the Guard’s headquarters. He shouldn’t even have entered Jonathan’s house, let alone stayed this long. Still, he finds himself wanting to prolong this moment.

“What should I play?” Jonathan asks.

“That first one again? The one about rainbows.” Geoffrey smiles and looks away. Can barely stand the intensity of being the sole focus of Jonathan’s attention. “Chasing rainbows?”

Jonathan nods. “I’m always chasing rainbows,” Jonathan sings, at some point. “Waiting to find a little blue bird… in… vain.”

Geoffrey tries not to wince at how sincere Jonathan sounds. _Something a bit less gloomy, what do you think?_ , he suggests as the song dies. Jonathan lets out a small huff of laughter and for the next hour or so, he plays and they talk quietly in between one song and another in incomplete, inelegant sentences. But Geoffrey does have to go back to the headquarters eventually. And Jonathan has to go to the hospital.

They’re both quite late, in fact.

Although neither of them really wants to go anywhere else, they manage to make it to the street outside the residence. When Geoffrey turns to offer Jonathan a handshake, Jonathan pulls the hunter into a hug that is just as unexpected as it is perfect, warm against the cold night. The scent of whatever woodsy cologne Jonathan wears lingers in the air even after they part.

“Thanks for bringing me my coat. And for staying with us,” Jonathan says as he takes a step back. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend over for actual dinner.”

And that word, right there — _friend_ — has Geoffrey’s mouth turning bitter. Because as much as it flatters him to be called Jonathan’s friend, he’s suddenly very greedy, longing for bigger, more intense words. When Geoffrey replies, though, there are words of gratitude for the meal, for the music, but none for the other things Geoffrey is thinking, because he doesn’t really want to dwell on it.

For the rest of the night, though, whenever Geoffrey’s thoughts stray from what he’s meant to be doing back at the headquarters, it’s towards Jonathan’s voice and how warm and safe his embrace felt that they go.

He’s so screwed.


End file.
